-- My Flower Still Blooms --
By John Herlihy
In the fulness of day my flower still blooms,
My petals unfold, my face the sun grooms.
In the flower’s heart lies its essential seed,
Such sweet nectar never found in a weed.
Intrigued, who arrives, the restless butterfly,
Buzzing bees in search of honey do their fly-by.
Feeding on the life-blood with such Intimacy,
Privileged to partake in depths of this mystery.
In the misty dawn light, I raise my sleepy head,
By the air and the sun and the morning dew fed.
Attentive as all things in nature to fulfill my duty,
Make ready for the moment to display my beauty.
Yet the day is diminished in the passing hours,
My raiment begins to lose their special powers.
My delicate petals fall to the ground one by one,
From light into darkness where shadows be spun.
Soon what is left but a darkened crust of the heart,
That once bedecked the garden its beauty to impart.
An age-old saga whose mystery is repeatedly told,
There once lived a simple bud whose petals did unfold.
May the day never arrive a flower no longer blooms,
Let us cling to the mystery the entire world assumes.
So long the folded petals of a bud know how to open,
May we keep in our hearts the mystery they betoken.
- - - - - -
Copyright ©John Herlihy
Saturday 2 September 2023
Whereas the rose pictured is probably sterile with no fragrance at all. I'd rather be a weed than a designer flower.
Ron